Potter Beyond
by BKL8008
Summary: Over a century into the future, someone realizes that they are facing a world without Harry Potter, and finds that unacceptable. The solution? Create a new one. Based upon "Epilogue" of Justice League Unlimited and Batman Beyond. Not a crossover!


Potter Beyond

"Love of mine, someday you will die. I'll be close behind, I'll follow you into the dark." – Death Cab for Cuties

_A/N:_ This piece was inspired by the animated series Justice League Unlimited (season 4 episode 13) – 'Epilogue'. This one-shot is homage to a great storyline – _if_ you're a Batman fan! I figure with this one, we can make Warner Bros angry on two accounts – Harry & Batman. This is NOT a crossover! I've also tried to make it _not_ a direct copy of Amanda Waller vs. Hermione Weasley in the lecture, nor of Terry vs. Bruce with respect to Henry and Harry. Oh, and recall that Dumbledore was what – about 150, Ron said?

Hogsmeade Village, 2120 AD

122 years after the Battle of Hogwarts & the final fall of Voldemort

"_REDUCTO_!" The curse, cast with all the boiling rage of someone who no longer seemed to care about anything, shattered the door and most of its casing, and in the process, blasting away any protective Charms and Enchantments that might have been protecting the small cottage itself at the very edge of Hogsmeade Village.

It had not been as difficult as he'd expected, getting past the defenses that he knew would be in place. In fact, he was familiar with most of them. He'd even been there when a few of the later ones had initially been laid. The perimeter wards had fallen with a flick of his wrist, his well-trained wand needing no verbal word to release the passion of its master. The wrought iron gates also failed to slow his approach, as did the stone lions that stood guard just inside the garden wall. All of them fell into rubble in his wake. Even the Venomous Tentacula and Bubotuber, Devil's Snare and Ambulatory Mandrake in the front garden wilted away and turned black as he cast his wand over them.

What chance did a plain wooden door with only a magically enhanced Muggle deadbolt lock stand? Somehow, he'd expected so much more from one of the most celebrated Witches of the last century.

The cottage was dark.

But she was there, he knew.

He didn't need to cast _Hominum Revello_; he could sense her presence.

"I was wondering when you'd finally show up," her frail, quavering voice spoke serenely from the darkness, as one single candle flared to life. There was just enough time to see her wrinkled and spotted hand pass over the newborn flame as his eyes were drawn up to the face reflected in the orange candlelight.

Age and almost a century and a half had ravaged her body, but being magical had extended her life far beyond that of ordinary Muggles. Her flyaway hair, not so bushy as it once was, was now thinner and totally gray. But behind the wrinkles and age spots of her lined face, the same spark still danced in her eyes. It was as if they had never lost the wonder of a Muggleborn child who has just discovered that she is a Witch, and is seeing her very first instruction in the Magical Arts.

He started to speak, but she waved her hand, silencing him for only a second before he threw the Hex off. But something else stayed his tongue. Perhaps the realization that such a powerful Witch only needed her wand to focus the most complex of magic.

He knew that she could have vaporized him on the spot without even breaking a sweat.

"You could have just knocked, boy," she went on, her sparkling eyes meeting flashing green ones, "But be that as it may, welcome to my home – or what's left of it – Henry Griffiths." She then paused. "Or should I call you 'Harry Potter'?"

Godric's Hollow Some days earlier

"What the _hell _have you _done_ to me, Harry?" The young man shouted at the very old Wizard seated at the ornate desk of his study. The only surprise that Harry betrayed was a flinch of his hand, going for his wand, as the parchment he'd been reading rolled itself back up. Harry adjusted his bifocals.

With hasty steps, the young man approached. He only glanced very quickly at the display cases to his left, where there hung various costumes in random states of disrepair. A few of them were quite garish, and a single magical green eye mounted on a plaque followed his every move. A few were of polished but damaged Dragonhide. A couple were small enough to fit a child of no more than twelve years old.

"The only thing that matters is bringing in Dark Wizards, Henry," Harry rasped, his voice crackling with age. Were it a visible thing, it might have appeared dusty. "You know that."

"What about love, Harry?" Henry Griffiths asked, his anger cooling only a bit. "What about those that loved _you_? What about Lily and James? What about Teddy Lupin and Albie – your own _son_ – for Merlin's sake? What about Ron or Orion? _They_ all loved you, and _all_ of them abandoned you!" He paused, taking a breath. "Don't you even remember what Dumbledore believed? Don't you even wonder _why_?"

"No."

Silence permeated the room that both men knew so well. After all, it was where they conferred. It was where they made their grand plans to capture those who would break the law. Those who would endanger Wizardkind again with their dreams of Dark Magic, Pure Blood, and total global dominion.

Harry Potter turned to face the face, right down to the green eyes and scar, that he remembered seeing every day in the mirror so very long ago. "In the end, they didn't have what it took. They quit. Are _you_ about to quit, too, Henry? I won't think badly of you if you do." He took a breath. "Then again, yeah, I will," he shrugged, wheezing.

"I'm not surprised," Henry sighed.

**Hogsmeade Village**

"I'm not surprised," she said, waving her hand and causing a few more candles to flair to life. She got up from her comfortable chair and moved towards the far table. "Tea?"

"You wouldn't be," Henry replied.

"Oh, put that wand away. Come and sit. I've been expecting this day for decades," Hermione Weasley stated plainly.

"I have questions I have to know the answers for," Henry demanded, but he did stow his wand. She blinked at the subtle change in his appearance.

"Of course you do," Hermione replied, puffing as she poured tea for the both of them and offering a small plate of biscuits. "Otherwise, why would you go to the trouble of breaking into the home of the infamous Hermione Granger-Weasley, cleverest Witch of her time and most celebrated Ministry reformist in history? Not that an owl wouldn't have done, I have nothing to keep from you – now – dear Henry, not this late in the game," She sighed. "Why is it that you're so young and good looking? They're always so handsome," Hermione sighed, adjusting a picture of a teenage boy with red hair and freckles. The boy blushed and smiled cheekily at her.

"Handsome? Really?"

"Just like a Muggle superhero," she grinned. Her dentures clicked. She laughed to herself about the joke of "dropping your teeth at someone".

"Superhero?"

"Muggle idea, comic books, they're like…"

"I _know_ what a superhero is," Henry snorted.

"Really. Tea?" She repeated, offering him a cup. But whether her gnarled fingers lost the grip on the delicate china cup, or Henry simply didn't take it, was unknown. The ornately printed cup fell to the floor.

There was a shattering sound.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Henry stammered. "I c-can fix it." He pulled his wand. "Repa-…" he began, but she stayed his hand. She saw the scarred words there.

"_**I must not tell lies."**_

"Don't bother." She gazed down at the broken cup. It would be so simple to fix it. One little word. Neither really needed a wand – or a word. "They don't make this print anymore," she sighed. "Ah, well. It's been ages and ages since I had enough company to use the whole set. You'd think with hundreds of Weasleys out there, but no…"

"I don't want any tea or biscuits!" Henry snapped, "I want answers!"

"And you'll get them," Hermione replied sweetly, "_If_ you humor an old woman."

Henry sighed. For all his power, for all his training, he knew he was at her mercy. She'd either talk, or she wouldn't. There was nothing he could do to force it, shy of the Imperious Curse. Henry figured she was immune to that, anyhow.

Besides, he'd never stoop to that level.

**A few weeks prior, London, a park near Grimmauld Place**

"So what is this all about?" The young lady asked the Auror who had arranged their rendezvous in the small park. She looked seriously at him, expectant, adjusting the pin that held the scarf to her ginger hair. The wind was crisp, reddening their faces, almost hiding her splash of freckles.

He stared into her face. Unwrinkled. Young. Beautiful. So full of life.

And it had to stay that way: alive.

"I'm breaking it off, Ginny," Henry Griffiths informed her in his clinical, flat, 'Auror voice'. "It's over."

"You _sound_ like you're arresting me," she replied. "After ten years of waiting, too?" She looked away. "I've waited ten years for you, Henry, and now instead of proposing, you're dumping me?"

He caught the tone of her voice, the danger signal. Bat Bogies would be next.

"You know _why_, Ginny. You know what happened to your namesake…" he began. "I'm cursed, just not in the usual way. I'm dangerous."

"Oh yes! There could be Dark Wizards hiding in the bushes!" Ginny snapped, "I've told you over and over it's a risk I'm willing to take! I don't care if some old Death Eater or random lunatic comes after me because he thinks that I know that you're really Harry Potter! I don't _care_, **Henry Griffiths**! I _love_ you!" She sniffed once, reaching up to touch his face, her fingertips brushing his dark hair. She stared into _his _eyes. It was so easy to lose herself in those eyes, even if he did resemble _his _so much.

She felt the Spell ripple around them. She knew what it was. Then another.

No one was watching, the magic told them. No one would see them, now, either. Revealing and Disillusioning.

He pulled his 'business' wand, his hand cold as it closed over the polished holly wood.

She looked away from the hard, green eyes staring back at her through round glasses, and from under the mop of untidy black hair that blew back from the scarred forehead. She couldn't bear to look at Harry Potter, her own great-grand-something-Uncle.

She looked beyond.

"I liked you better the other way, Henry," she said softly, standing on tiptoe, her lips moving towards his.

The wind was cold on her lips.

"I love you too much, Ginny. I'm sorry. I can't _let_ you take this risk. Goodbye."

There wasn't even a POP of Disapparation.

Henry Griffiths was gone.

"And _I _will always love you, Henry," Ginevra Weasley – the third to carry the name in a century – cried.

The wind was cold.

Snow began to fall, but only over the small park where no children played.

Present Day, Hogsmeade

"No, it's all right. Molly Weasley, my mother in law, gave me that tea service when Ronald and I were married. Feels like a lifetime ago." Hermione seemed to ponder it. "It _was _a lifetime ago."

"That's why I came. It's like a legacy. A holdover from a bygone Era," Henry mumbled, feeling suddenly ashamed. If he'd only taken the cup.

"Genuine imported china. After all these years, all the children, I thought it was Charmed so it wouldn't break. I guess the magic finally wore off," Hermione sighed again, sipping at her tea as she moved to sit in a plush chair near the fire. "Do be a dear and repair the door? It's cold, Henry," she reminded him, and he did that.

With _the_ wand. _His_ wand.

Hermione Weasley gasped as she stared at the boy she'd fought with in battle over one hundred years ago. It was the face that had been there in the tent for nearly an entire, awful year on the run during the hunt for the Horcruxes. It was the face that had been close to hers when they'd danced – when Ron had left them. Everything was the same: the eyes, the glasses, the hair, the scar. Even his hand, where she'd seen the scarred words – although Henry had never written the Cursed lines.

"How can anyone live his own life, while living the life of another?" Henry asked.

"It's been so long since we used the whole tea set," Hermione lamented.

"How does one escape the curse of Harry Potter?" Henry asked the ceiling.

"But even with one missing piece, the entire set is ruined," Hermione observed, as she waved her hand and the cup reassembled. It floated in the air in front of her.

Then she let it fall to the floor again.

She did not repair it.

**Sometime in the recent past, near Diagon Alley**

A volley of Curses rang out from the three Aurors who were locked in battle with three men in black robes and white masks. It had been over a century since the Final Battle, but there were still Purebloods out there who held fast to the old ways. A jet of green light narrowly missed one of the Aurors, taking off his fedora in its wake and mussing his white blond hair.

"Orion!" Teddy Potter shouted, taking down the thug with a slick stunning/paralyzing spell that he'd perfected recently.

Orion Malfoy ducked and rolled, landing in a large puddle near the center of the dark alleyway and crashed into a full dustbin. He came up with his colorless eyes flashing, his black Dragonhide trench coat soaked and stinking. He dispatched another of the thugs with a forceful Averte Statem. The criminal flew backward, slamming into a brick wall. He did not get back up, but a thick book flew from his coat pocket when he hit.

"Accio, book!" Artie Weasley called, but the book didn't move. "Shite! Forgot you can't summon things like _**The Book of Arcane Sorcery**_!" He swore. He ran to grab it, a jet of yellow light clipping his calf. Blood flew, and Artie went down, hamstrung.

Orion moved to cover him, but the one that Teddy had taken down threw off the Curse.

"Hand the book over," The uninjured man ordered, "And we'll go."

"Knot-head!" Teddy laughed, as the five of them leveled wands at one another. "Should have known!"

"That's Theodore Warwick Nott IV to you, _Teddy_-bear!" Nott snapped back. "I can't believe they let you on as an Auror! Was it because D_aaaaa_ddy got you the job?" He chided him.

Teddy's eyes went wide. "ARGGGGGH!" He threw the curse at Nott, blasting him back to slam into the wall. Nott was not knocked out, but his wand arm went CRUNCH! as at least one bone shattered and he howled in pain. "I am NOT my father!" Teddy added, spitting, his eyes burning amber and his fangs cutting his lower lip.

"ENOUGH!" Another voice then sounded, and there was an explosion of red and gold light amongst them. The air filled with the most beautiful song, perhaps that of some lovely bird that has lost something precious and is lamenting.

Descending like an avenging angel from the nimbus of light was Harry James Potter.

The Aurors didn't move, but the two criminals froze in shock.

"It's _him_! IT'S BLOODY _HIM_!" One of them shouted, "It's true! He's _still _alive!"

"You can't fight an Immortal! Run!" The other cried, as Harry aimed a long, dark wand at them. As he flourished it, the wind whipping his long leather coat and blowing back his unkempt black hair, he took the time to push his glasses up and fired.

It was over in a second.

The two thugs joined their other in a crumpled heap, blood from all three flowing into the gutter.

"Mad Eye would be pleased," Harry observed.

"Grand-Grandfather!" Teddy Potter said respectfully, shortening it to one "grand".

"Uncle!" Artie and Orion both added, smiling, as Orion quickly bandaged his cousin's useless leg and pulled him up, supporting him.

"Nice of you to drop in, sir, since all three of them are descendants of your old nemeses!" Teddy laughed. "But we almost had 'em!"

"Hey!" Orion exclaimed. "Not _all_ of us were bad!"

"Good point, Cousin," Artie smiled.

Harry Potter did not look pleased, however.

"Your wolfy side is showing, Grand-Grandson," Harry snorted.

"Sorry!" Teddy grinned, pulling his fangs back in as his eyes went back to ice blue. "But we could'a' took 'em, sir!"

"Yes, well, I certainly _hope_ so, because this is the _last _time I intervene!" Harry snarled. "I'm not covering for you guys anymore. You're on your own. Try not to get yourselves killed. **Harry Potter is dead**!"

"But…but…sir?" Artie squeaked, clutching the book that the three had attempted to steal. "The Aurors, the Ministry! We _need_ you! We need Harry Potter!"

"Not anymore, you don't!" Harry's retort was blistering, as he told them all what he thought of the Minister of the Magic, the Ministry itself, and the Auror Department that he'd run for so long.

Only Teddy Potter dared open his mouth again.

"SILENCE, boy!" And with that, Harry turned on the spot and vanished without a sound.

Teddy looked crushed.

"Right spry for a hundred-forty, isn't he?" Orion wondered. "Not even one gray hair!"

"I think I need to go to St. Mungo's," Artie winced.

Present Day, Hogsmeade

"When did you figure it out?" Hermione asked.

"I guess, maybe, some part of me has always known," Henry explained. "But I was certain about six months ago, when Harry needed that blood transfusion and a new liver. They needed a tissue match to make the regenerative potions and duplicate organ, and we all donated. I was a perfect match. _Absolutely_ perfect. What are the odds?"

Godric's Hollow

"Over one hundred to one," Harry Potter snarled. "So – you had a Muggle DNA test done?"

"After I got the nerve," Henry glared at Harry, similar faces staring one another down. They could have been brothers, but one much, much older. "I was almost thirteen when you and Ginny took me in, Harry. A Third Year when you began training me. I was your typical bad seed Slytherin kid with a worse attitude since being orphaned, too much magic to contain without special tutors, and no clue of what I could become. I never understood _why_ – the famous old Harry Potter and his family, upstanding Gryffindors, models of the Magical Community. Celebrities! Thought it was empty nest syndrome, I did." He looked away. "I never admitted it, but…but I hated you at the start. Grandparents to so many, adopting a kid like me. But then I started to get used to you all. In time, with all the aunts and uncles, all the other kids – Potters, Weasleys, Lupins, Finnigans, and the lot, I…I loved you. All of you. I even _worshipped _you, Harry!" Henry confessed.

"What you wanted, I couldn't give you," Harry retorted sharply. "Not after…"

"Albie?" Henry cut in. "Don't give me that, Harry! You weren't the only one gutted when he was killed, you know!"

"I _couldn't _give it to anyone thereafter," Harry grumbled.

"But you could take it back?" Henry countered.

Harry Potter said nothing at all.

"My dad wasn't a great Wizard," Henry went on, walking around the room and gazing at the relics of a long, illustrious career for a famous Auror. There were broken wands, scrolls, broomsticks, odd assorted objects that had once carried curses, books, and more. "My dad never was famous. He never saved the world. He never went up against Voldemort, MacLeod, Badenov, or any of the big wannabe's.

"But he was always there for us. For me and mum and my brother. Took care of us; provided for us. He tried to teach us right from wrong, made sure we knew about the past – our past – and that we wouldn't make the same stupid mistakes that some of our ancestors did. And he never raised a hand to me, although Merlin knows I needed it!"

"Your point?" Harry wondered aloud, looking annoyed, but intrigued.

"My point?" Henry shouted, throwing a book that he'd been examining. It burst open when it hit the floor and began to scream. Harry silenced it with a flick of his hand. "My point is that the man I loved, the man I called 'daddy', the man who took care of me, and the man whose death nearly destroyed me WASN'T my dad! It was all just another lie! Another one of YOUR lies!"

Harry didn't even blink.

"MY POINT IS THAT ANTHONY GRIFFITHS WASN'T MY FATHER!" Henry shouted at the old man, moving to get in Harry's face. "_YOU_ ARE!"

Harry looked sly. "What do you want from me?"

"I want to know the truth, and nothing but!" Henry demanded.

"Sounds like you already do!" Harry pointed out, his voice dripping sarcasm.

"Guess I didn't wanna believe that you were so amazingly arrogant, that you thought the world couldn't survive without you!" Henry sneered, a look that would have made Draco Malfoy proud. "How very Slytherin of _you_!"

"Or someone _like_ me. It's _not_ arrogance - It's fact!" Harry came back at him. "I could have well been in Slytherin. I _chose_ not to."

Hogwarts, 12 year prior

"What's this?" The Sorting Hat gasped, settling down over a mop of hair so dark brown that it was almost black. It winced as a pair of hazel eyes laced with green stared up into its depths. "Harry Potter? Didn't I Sort you a hundred years ago?"

"He's my hero!" The little eleven-year-old boy crowed.

"I see," the Hat said cryptically. "Well, not quite the mind that he had, but a good mind! Old family pride, I see! And yes, it's all right here. Bravery, ambition, loyalty, intelligence! But bravery?" The Hat paused. "I see. You don't want to be in Gryffindor, even though your name is similar, perhaps even an offshoot of the same family?"

"Please, sir?" The boy almost begged.

"Very well. It's _your_ choice, boy. SLYTHERIN!" The Hat announced.

Godric's Hollow

"You set the whole thing up," Henry accused Harry.

"_How_? You were almost a teenager when you were orphaned and Ginny and I took you and your brother, Hamish, in. I was over a hundred years old when I met your parents, and even then, you were just a baby. I may still have been spry, but I wasn't _that _spry!"

"I DON'T KNOW! Maybe you slipped me a potion, a modified PolyJuice, to rewrite my DNA to match yours!" Henry guessed.

"That potion, and the main ingredient, has been illegal for over fifty years!" Harry snapped in reply. "Where are you going to find an Ambulatory Mandrake to squeeze? And besides, no one's seen a Phoenix to get a drop of its saliva in as long! Rumor is, they're extinct!"

Henry laughed. "Reborn of fire on Burning Day, and they _went extinct_? Yeah, right!" Henry laughed harder. "Tell me another good one! Besides, it didn't stop YOU from using it on Albie to try and extend his…"

Harry froze. He looked away, but not before one single tear escaped his eye.

"Fine. Sorry. That was a shot below the belt," Henry admitted, "But you've never lied to me, right? Have you, Harry?" He drove on harder, faster, never giving the old man a chance to cut back in. "How did you do it, with the wand? You insisted I start using your old holly wand, from the day I picked it up when I was clearing the table. What was I, fourteen? And it glowed! What Spell did you use to prepare it? Was there _any_ truth in you telling me that you thought that young Gregorovitch perhaps hadn't matched me well to my own wand? How did you get the holly wand to recognize me as its new Master, when I _never _fought you? And how the hell did you get it to transform me into the PERFECT copy of YOU whenever I picked it up again years later?" Henry was panting now, his anger near fever pitch.

"HOW DID YOU DO IT?" Henry screamed, spittle flying from his lips. "How did you turn ME into YOU?"

"Believe what you want," Harry snarled, his face a study in rage – but controlled. Just barely. "But know this – accident or not, it's a good thing that you're almost a copy of me…even more so than my own Albus was!" He choked. "The world _does_ need _a_ Harry Potter, and it always will!"

Harry's eyes then went wide. He gasped, and reached for a beaker of potion, clutching at his chest. His gnarled hand bumped it, spilling it. Harry fell from his chair, gasping for breath.

"You know what, Harry? Maybe that old copy of the _**Daily Prophet**_," Henry pointed to another glass case, where a very young Harry was hugging Hermione Granger in the cover photo of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, "was right after all! You _are_ mad, _and_ a liar! Being Harry Potter isn't an honor! It's a curse!"

Henry turned and walked away, his own face reflecting in the glass of a trophy case.

The slam of a door, and Henry was gone as Harry pulled a wand and siphoned potion back into the beaker to drink greedily.

**Hogsmeade Village**

"Look at all the potions," Hermione was saying, as she pulled a Muggle TV tray closer. "A potion for my joints. A potion for my glaucoma. A potion for my stomach. And I don't even know what this one is for!" She smiled, thinking. "Right! Dementia!" She laughed.

"Don't let on like you're some doddering, senile, old crone!" Henry snapped at her. "You're the only one that can give me the answers I need, and I know that you know! Only you can help me!"

"Besides Harry, you mean?"

"Harry Potter can't be trusted," Henry replied, sneering. "I should have realized it when I was in Sixth Year and MacLeod went bad. Once Harry makes up his mind on what to do, he won't back down – fallout be damned!"

"If you truly believe that, then you don't know him at all," Hermione disagreed, "Let me tell you a story! It was a long time ago, when we were all young. When we were still 'The Golden Trio'."

Henry sighed and flopped in an armchair.

"It was about twelve years after the fall of Voldemort," Hermione began, "And Harry found himself cleaning up another of … well … the Malfoys' and the Death Eaters' messes. It was during Teddy Lupin's – the first one's – First Year. He was a werewolf, you know. But there was something different about Teddy: he was sane! And he was not only a werewolf, he was a Metamorph, like his mother. We called him 'the Metawolf', and he was one of a kind. In fact, he was the cure for the common werewolf. But naturally, someone didn't like that. Someone wanted him out of the way.

"Now, Harry was still stinging from the War, and all that he'd lost. He'd lost Remus and Dora, Teddy's folks, Fred Weasley, who was like a brother. He'd already lost his own mum and dad, you know. Everyone knows the story of Harry Potter. Fifty people died in the Battle of Hogwarts. Among them was little Colin Creevey – little, as in short. He was a Sixth Year. Right annoying little stalker, he was, too! Always following Harry around, spying on us when we did our homework! He was always a year ahead, though. He knew everything we did. He worshipped Harry, too."

"Then he was a fool, too," Henry snorted.

"No, he was brave," Hermione countered. "When the call to arms came, Colin defied acting Headmistress McGonagall and slipped back in to fight. He was killed defending Hogwarts, just like the chocolate frog trading cards say. Or so we thought."

"And?" Henry was starting to become interested, although he tried to not show it.

"He wasn't killed," Hermione went on. "He was beaten – badly – by the werewolf Fenrir Greyback. He was also drugged with the Draught of Living Death, to appear dead. Greyback injected him with werewolf saliva, and he became the famous White Wolf that is the stuff of legend at the school that bears his namesake to this day. He died the first time in the Werewolf War during Teddy Lupin's first year. But Colin had a secret."

"Yes?" Henry whispered, his eyes as wide as an enthralled child's.

"Colin Creevey left behind a Horcrux! A Horcrux of light!"

"He did NOT!" Henry gasped.

Hermione nodded, pouring more tea. Henry finally accepted a cup.

"And on Christmas morning, Harry Potter broke the law. He gambled the lives of Teddy and his classmates, not to mention his puppy, in using Colin's old camera. It was the Horcrux which that sweet little boy had made by pure accident. He split his own Soul out of love for his little brother, love of Hogwarts, perhaps even Magic Herself. And he waited, trapped inside the limbo of that camera, for a decade before Harry released him."

"He used a Horcrux?" Henry said in a very low voice. "That's a _death sentence_! Do not pass 'go', don't even go to Azkaban!"

Hermione only nodded again, sniffling once and dabbing at her eye with the sleeve of her robe. "But it wasn't Dark Magic, Henry. It was beautiful magic. It was pure love, and as Albus Dumbledore always thought, the most powerful magic there is. It was the magic that Lily Potter used to defeat Voldemort the first time, when she cast herself between the Killing Curse and her baby – Harry. It was the magic that Harry used to give a second chance to a little boy who was robbed of his very life." She paused, as if considering more tea. She put the empty cup down. "He knew full well what the consequences might be. He knew he could be arrested, sentenced to death, lose it all. But he did it anyway. He didn't do it for glory, or fame, or to show off. He didn't do it to prove anything. He did it, Henry, because he loved that boy. It took him a long time to admit it, but he did. And after that First Year and all the hell that Teddy and Colin raised, all the adventures they had, Colin Creevey became like a son to Harry Potter. He trained as an Auror with Teddy Lupin, and together, they cracked some of the toughest nuts of cases that the Ministry had ever seen! It was Colin Creevey that found the Shrine of Mordred and broke the Curse of it. Did you know? Did you know that Colin was the very first Muggleborn Unspeakable in later years?"

"That's classified," Henry answered. "How is it you…never mind?" He fumbled. Of course, he thought, Hermione Weasley would know everything.

"And in all that time, through thick and thin…no…I know what you're thinking! It wasn't all roses, Henry. Harry and Colin had a few rows, they did! But in the end, it was Harry who raised a fine boy into a fine man. And Colin took the secret of his Horcrux to his grave with him. When he died the second time, or what some call the third time, he insured that Harry would never be charged. He insured that Harry Potter would go on, because he _knew _that it had to be. Even Harry's worst enemy, Draco Malfoy, you'll remember? He knew. Even he never told. Such was the power of Harry Potter's ability to forgive – and to love!" Hermione finished her tale.

They'd talked for hours. The tea had long since gone cold.

"But you didn't think too highly of Harry's actions, did you?" Henry had to ask.

"No," Hermione confessed, "And for over a century, I've never told anyone. Not even Ron," She glanced at the photo of the ginger boy again. "I had my doubts. I tried to talk him out of it. It was a bit of magic, Dark Magic I thought, that I knew nothing about. And back then, I thought I knew it all. I didn't want him to do it. But he did. And in a way, he paid for it. He had another child that he was responsible for, after all," Hermione added. "And Teddy."

"And little Albie, Orion, and then me," Henry said softly.

"Yes," Hermione assured him, reaching to take his hand. "Even the lonely little Slytherins with nowhere else to go."

"But he was different by then," Henry reminded her.

"Yes," Hermione agreed, summing it all up so very simply with that one word.

"Or perhaps it was the Slytherin side of his nature," Henry countered, his anger rising again. "Perhaps he somehow knew it was for his own good, in the long run. There was something in it for him. He always seemed to be at least a step ahead of everyone at the game."

"Not without us, he wasn't," another voice disagreed, and Henry realized that it was his "Grand-Uncle" Ron from the picture. "What made Harry Potter great was that he was more than the sum of his parts," Teen-Ron informed him, "And we were two very BIG parts of the legend that is Harry Potter."

"Right! Even when you think you're ahead, you're not! Delegate, Harry always said. That, and 'constant vigilance'. I should have known when he first took me and Hamish in. I never stood a chance. Not only did I look like him, somewhat, I wanted to _be_ him! Hell, even his wand wanted to be with me! And in the end, he got just what he wanted – I _am_ him! Or so the world believes! From the day I walked into #12, I never had a chance!" He sniffed. He warmed his tea with a flick of his hand. "Hell, even the Sorting Hat knew when I was eleven."

Hermione laughed, much to Henry's amazement. "Henry, dear, Harry Potter didn't alter your DNA, nor did he turn you into a clone of him. _We_ did!" Hermione turned the picture of young Ron closer to him.

"What? HOW? **WHY**?" Henry stammered, unable to believe her words.

It was the portrait of Ron Weasley who answered. "Because the world needs Harry Potter," he explained, "Not that we always thought so, and a lot of Death Eaters and the Old Families didn't think so, either! After the War, Harry and Dumbledore's Army – us included – were easily the most respected, and for some – feared – group of young people that this country had ever seen. Word of what we'd done spread to the continent like plague, and it didn't stop there. Pretty soon, we were up to our arses in tourists. Hell, we even had families from as far as Asia and America wanting to send their magical kids as exchange students to study DADA with Harry! We'd helped him defeat the worst Dark Wizard of all time, and when we talked, people listened."

"Yes," Hermione agreed, sadly stroking the portrait's frame. "But in time, Ronald and I began to worry about Harry. For a time, it seemed that it was all going to his head. He went through Auror training so fast, and got a choice position teaching DADA at Hogwarts. He had Teddy to help raise, his own children, and then Colin. But it wasn't that, really. We realized that in time. We mistook his cool demeanor for arrogance, sometimes. We mistook his passion for arrogance. We couldn't fully understand what all he'd been through in life, but in time, we came to respect it. And him. To us, he finally became more than just 'the boy who lived' or 'the chosen one'. Through it all, he was still our best friend, though. But he became – **Harry Potter**."

Henry wondered at her emphasis on the name.

"We trusted him with our lives," Ron agreed, "And he never let us down."

"We watched him take down Voldemort, and later, some of the worst Wizards to ever come along since," Hermione added. "And he did it with nothing but his wits, his wand, and his passion."

"And a _bit_ of help from us," Ron added, and Hermione nodded.

"Of course, the Hallows helped, too," Hermione continued, "The Master of Death, those who knew, called him. But never to his face!"

"The Deathly Hallows were _real_?" Henry wondered, whistling. "All of them?"

"All three of them, mate," Ron nodded. "The wand, the stone, and the cloak." 

Henry gasped. "Wait, wait! You mean the cloak that he gave…"

"The one he gave you when you graduated Hogwarts, with honors," Hermione confirmed. "Just like he allowed Teddy Lupin to keep the stone when he found it when he was five. Magical folk live much longer than Muggles, you know, but according to myth, Harry might have lived forever – but he chose not to."

Henry was speechless.

"But we saw something else as time went by," Hermione shook her head. "Years, decades. A century. Harry Potter was getting older. Slower. Soon he'd have to retire, or more than likely, someone would _finally _manage to kill him – Elder Wand or not. The thought of a world without Harry Potter was unacceptable. So, we decided to make a _new_ one. We thought that when Albus Severus was of age, he would take over, as he so very much resembled Harry," she nodded to Ron.

"But _he_ didn't have the personality for it. So we used up all of our connections, called in all our old favors, even resorted to blackmail," Ron said, "We called in everyone we could think of. Draco Malfoy for the potions, Madame Iris Pomfrey for the medical side of it, and Kingsley Shacklebolt himself to cover our tracks. I'm sure you've heard the names? We called them all in to help us with **'Project Potter Beyond**'."

"Orders of Merlin, First Class, all of them!" Henry breathed, "Malfoy with the Paracelsus Prize for Potions, and _Shacklebolt_? The Nobel Laureate?"

Ron and Hermione nodded again.

"Harry's DNA wasn't hard to come by, he left it all over the Isles," Hermione explained further. "But we knew that enhanced PolyJuice wouldn't do it alone. We found a Magical couple with personality profiles much like James and Lily Potter. It took forever to find a black-haired man with a redheaded lady, and even then, neither of them had green eyes. But a simple alteration of a DNA strand took care of that. Your father, Anthony, thought he was getting vaccinations to travel overseas, but actually, it was a modified PolyJuice that Malfoy had created. He nicknamed it 'PermaJuice', and its function was to recode the reproductive material in your father's…erm…_you know_…to be an exact duplicate of Harry's. But the trick was, to time release it; when you hit puberty, the 'Harry Effect' would kick in, and you'd begin to …erm…resemble him."

"Then you were born," Hermione said, "But when you're building a new Harry Potter, genes are only part of it. The rest is tragedy."

"You know the old story, it never changes," Ron cut in. "Poor little boy grows up in obscurity, loses his parents, maybe a bit of abuse or neglect, then gets picked up by someone who turns out to be quite powerful. The boy discovers his own talents, usually something spectacular, and goes on a quest, if you will. He loses someone dear along the way, usually a male role model, but not always."

"Hamish," Henry sniffed, looking away. "I…I always told myself there was nothing Harry could have done to prevent it."

"There wasn't," Hermione assured him, "But there's more to it."

"What?" Henry wondered.

"Your folks," Ron said nervously, "And please hear us out before you smash my glass!"

"Go on?" Henry agreed, so stunned that he was sure that nothing else could surprise him.

But he was wrong.

"You're out on the town, remember? Movie night? You're newly twelve years old, and just coming off the thrill of a successful First Year at Hogwarts. The plan is simple – a killer would attack you, kill your folks, and put you on the way to becoming Harry Potter. We found a convict from Azkaban, total nutter, really, with a thing for killing Slytherins. We cut him loose with a wand and a target."

"YOU DID WHAT?" Henry screamed, but a wave of Hermione's hand put him right back in his chair, frozen.

"Some say that Harry Potter is determined, brave to a fault, perhaps even maniacal. As you said, once he sets his mind to a plan, he won't stop until he's achieved his goal. He's ruthless, some say, and he'll do anything. But that's not true."

"Harry would _never_ kill anyone," Ron cut back in. "And if we stooped to that level, even on his behalf, then we'd be no better than Voldemort or his followers."

Henry studied the two faces he'd known all his life. "You called it off?" He asked, hopefully, desperately.

"No," Hermione replied flatly, "Our would-be assassin did."

"Euan couldn't do it after all," Ron explained. "He turned his wand on himself, rather than go back to Azkaban."

"But my folks still ended up murdered!" Henry spat the words, "And now you're going to sit here and tell me that YOU, _YOU_ of ALL people, had it _planned_?"

"The plan failed," Ron agreed, "But before he went, Euan made us see the horror that was right in front of us, so close to us, that _we_ couldn't see it: we'd become like _them_. We were becoming like the Death Eaters we fought. In effect, Euan saved us from ourselves. He made us see it."

"Call it fate, destiny, karma, God, guardian angels, whatever you will," Hermione went on again, "Your parents died, yes, but not by _our_ hands. In the end, perhaps it was sheer dumb luck that did it. A common thief, that's all he was. A thief with an itchy trigger finger and a drug addiction."

"You just don't get it," Henry disagreed. "For all you did, or almost did, I still ended up being orphaned! I ended up being Xerox-Harry anyway!"

"Xerox?" Ron asked.

"A Muggle copy machine, for duplicating papers," Hermione explained. Ron nodded.

"Ah!"

"You know, our faith has been our only comfort all these years," Hermione went on. "God, Jesus, Merlin, Allah, the Buddha, whomever you believe in – pick one, I don't care which! We know we've got a lot to answer for, and sooner rather than later. But one thing that Harry taught us was not to fear death. Whether it be as Ghosts, or taking one of his Afterlife trains "on" as the spirit of Dumbledore told him, we know that there's more. It's just the next great adventure. Perhaps what we do in life determines where our train takes us."

"And perhaps, in creating you to continue the legacy of Harry Potter, we've done something good," Ron nodded hopefully. "For good or bad, you know?"

"Even the angel at the gates of Eden has a flaming sword," Hermione added. "We've known Harry Potter for more than a century," she went on, "And we've been keeping an eye on you for your entire life. You're _not_ Harry's clone. You're his _son_. There are similarities, yes, and you _are _an exact copy when you hold the holly wand. But that's only a temporary Spell, as you've seen – but a good one. It even fools you! For example, you don't quite have the shape of the eyes that Albus Severus had. You don't have Harry's charm when he really turned it on, either. I think that's probably from the innocence you had. You were loved as a child; Harry wasn't. That was something we dared not tamper with."

"I wondered about the scar," Henry touched his forehead.

"A little Hex from Madame Pomfrey, when Hamish whacked you with that Beater's bat," Ron confessed. "She altered it a bit, made it permanent."

Henry Griffiths smiled. "Something to remember him by," he said, finding comfort in that. "Harry and I used to laugh about that," he sighed. "He called us 'scar-buddies'."

"But for all the problems we had in creating you," Hermione said, and Henry could tell that her tale was almost finished, "If you want to have a better life than Harry did, does, then take care of what really matters. Don't give in to grief, or fear. Don't push away those who love you. Even at our age, life is –was – short. Don't waste a day of it, sitting there shut away in a dark room with only your books and case files for company."

"You sure I can't fix that teacup?" Henry smiled back at them, picking up the dusty portrait of Ron Weasley and buffing the glass on his sleeve. Ron sneezed.

"Thanks for that!" He laughed.

"Remember this, Henry," Hermione dismissed him, "Dumbledore always said it was our choices that define us. The choice is yours. Be Harry Potter - or don't be."

"Goodbye, Hermione, Ron," Henry whispered, nodding.

"Goodbye…Harry," Hermione whispered back, but only after the repaired door clicked shut. "Goodnight, Ronald," she added, leaning back in the comfy old chair that had served as her bed for so many nights and other odd hours of the day when she tired.

And Hermione Weasley tired easily those days.

"I think we did the right thing, 'Mione," Ron said from his portrait.

But no one answered him, and later that next day, Hermione was still in her favorite chair.

The tea had frozen in the pot, despite its cozy.

Diagon Alley, much later that night

Green flames were erupting in the Floo at Ginny Weasley's flat above the joke Shoppe in Diagon Alley. With a grumble and a promise of Bat Bogies from hell for whoever had dared wake her at three in the morning, she stumbled to the Floo. "Whut?" She demanded.

"Ginny, marry me," Henry Griffiths's head asked her.

"What?" Ginny exclaimed, suddenly coming fully awake. "You just dumped me!"

"I've been a stupid prat," Henry almost cried, "Please forgive me! I don't want to spend my life alone, Ginny! I don't want to end up like…"

"A lonely, bitter old man sequestered in his cellar?" Ginny supplied, as Henry fell forwards from the Floo into the room proper.

"I love you, Ginny Weasley," Henry told her, reaching into his pocket for the small velvet box he'd picked up some time ago and never had the nerve to give her. In doing so, he bumped the holly wand unknowingly.

Green eyes looked through the round glasses at the beautiful young redhead, and just as that same voice had done over one hundred and twenty years before, repeated, "I love you, Ginny!"

**Godric's Hollow**

**Four in the morning**

"You're in my favorite chair," Harry Potter grumbled angrily, as the flames of the Floo died out. "Where the hell have you been?"

"I had some business to take care of," Henry replied.

"Mystery is overrated, especially at this time of day," Harry said, "I was worried. I made you some dinner, but it's cold now."

Henry lifted the lid of the covered dish. "Looks like gazpacho, it's supposed to be cold," Henry pointed out.

Harry snorted.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to worry you," Henry apologized.

"I was worried about the Wizarding World, if Harry Potter's not around," Harry countered, fumbling with the cork in a potion bottle. Henry took it from him and opened it, tipping a bit into a shot glass.

"I've got it covered – always," Henry replied.

Harry drank the potion and slammed the glass down. "Urghhhhh!" He grimaced. "Oh! And Teddy called. Nothing urgent, he just wanted to talk to you."

"Which Teddy?"

"How the hell should I know?" Harry almost smiled, "After one hundred and twenty years of offspring, who can keep them all straight? I think it was the little furry one, up north – the fourth one, that Meta-Veela-wolfy-Sprite one. Something about his school?"

"I'm on it," Henry nodded in reply.

"You should eat first," Harry insisted.

"I'll eat when I get there. I hear that his Elf, Wickie, makes a mean breakfast!"

"For a Gryffindor, you're very Slytherin," Harry muttered, turning back to stare out the window at the setting moon. Henry thought he heard the old man mumbling about someone named Dobby. He didn't bother to point out that Harry had it backwards!

"I had a good teacher, _Dad_," Henry answered, smiling, but not turning so that Harry would see it. He reached into his pocket.

Harry turned at the word.

Identical green eyes locked on each other, and for just a moment, a smile flashed across Harry Potter's face. He ran a hand through what was left of his gray hair and sighed. His finger touched the scar that had never hurt him again since that fateful day.

"Take this one too," Harry then said, holding out a long, thin wand with round embellishments along the shaft. "I think it'll like you. I've got a spare or three."

And Henry Griffiths took the Elder Wand without a word. The room glowed in brilliant tones of green and red, making it look like Christmas. Henry nodded, then grabbed up a classic Firebolt from the corner.

"You're going to fly, in this weather?" Harry asked.

"I love to fly," Henry replied.

"Yes," Harry agreed. "But you were never very good at it."

"I was the Slytherin Seeker!" Henry reminded him proudly.

"Just go, son," Harry snorted, and Henry thought he might have snickered.

The early morning was cold, and sunrise was some time away, leaving only the few streetlights of the mixed Muggle-Magical village for illumination. No one saw the broomstick take to the sky, leaving Godric's Hollow, where it had all begun so long ago.

_Almost _no one.

"Mummy! Daddy!" an excitable little boy in a white nightshirt shrieked, dragging his dog along behind him on a leash, as the unfortunate canine had picked that ungodly hour of the morning to have to have a pee. "I saw him!"

"Go back to bed, son," the boy's bleary-eyed father called back, "It was probably just Father Christmas!"

"No! It was _him_! I _saw_ him!" The boy insisted, and there was no doubt that young Magnus would get no more sleep that night. "I've just seen HARRY POTTER!"


End file.
